38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

It takes only a few days to get a call from my brother.

"I'm talking to you too much lately, Elio," I answer, bringing my attention from the files on my desk that have done nothing to keep my focus over the last hour.

"Blame the other assholes, not me."

"What's going on now?"

"Maximo has been getting heat from Canvani. Said some of his guys went rogue."

"Rogue?"

But did they do this on their own accord, or were they told to do this and make it seem that way? With the Canvanis, anything is possible.

Elio sighs. "That's what he said."

"Did he handle them? What did they do?"

"Went into one of Maximo's clubs. Shot it up, stole shit."

"You didn't answer the first part of the question."

"Says he did."

"But Maximo doesn't believe it."

Elio answers quickly. "Nope. He's pissed at the balls he's growing."

"So am I," I admit.

"He's blaming us."

"Excuse me?"

"He's blaming our lack of authority and organization along with the respect of the treaty. Said if we'd have followed the rules, Canvani wouldn't be pulling this shit."

"That's bullshit."

"I know, but we can't blame him for saying it. Business, Piccolino."

Yeah, business. Fucking business.

The outside gate chimes, pulling my attention behind me to glance at my monitors. Marco's car comes into view, and he's let in by the facial recognition in the small camera and makes his way up the driveway.

"You know anything about Marco stopping by?" I ask as I get to my feet.

"Haven't talked to him."

This can't be good.

I sigh. "Well, let's see what this is all about."

He's chuckling as I end the call, but I don't find any of this shit funny. Not one fucking bit. My brothers and I don't make unannounced stops at the other's houses. We're family, but we're not that close. When I open the front door, he's getting out of his truck.

"Everything okay?" I call out.

He rounds the large vehicle, holding his arms out wide. "Can't visit my baby brother?"

"Not for nothing," I say.

He shakes his head as he moves up the stairs. We share a hug, then he's moving past me. I go after him, still confused as to why he's here and growing more annoyed that he still hasn't told me.

"You got any food? I haven't had breakfast yet."

I check my watch. "It's two in the afternoon."

"Must be why I'm so hungry."

He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge, making an excited sound as he pulls out a container of Braciole, which was what Kate made for dinner last night.

I stand back and watch as he throws the entire thing into the microwave, grabs a fork, and eats it right from the container when it's done.

"Did you come into my home just to eat my food?" I narrow my eyes. "You having money problems?"

He swallows, reaching for a napkin on the counter to wipe his mouth. "No, but I can't think straight while I'm hungry."

My brothers and I all look very much alike. Both in build and facial structure. We all have dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and bodies built like trucks.

"Then you should have eaten before you arrived."

He rolls his eyes. "Lighten up, Vincenzo. I'm your brother."

"Who never visits. So why are you here?" I ask firmly.

"Can I eat first?" he asks cockily, gesturing to his food.

I hold his gaze for a moment, knowing if I don't let the guy eat, he may turn into something resembling a gremlin. So I mumble a, "Whatever" and move to the bar in the dining room to pour a glass of scotch.

"Can I get one of those?" he shouts at me.

I bite my tongue and pour him a glass. By the time I bring it back to him, he's putting the dirty Tupperware in the sink. He takes the glass, swirls it, and takes a sip.

"It doesn't go with that dish," I say.

"Alcohol goes with everything."

"You are so uncultured," I say. "Now tell me why you're here."

He takes another sip and looks up at me, his expression suddenly serious.

"I need to talk to you about something important."

"Okay," I say carefully. My brothers and I don't do serious, not outside of the family shit. And if this was something to do with Papa, or the family, Elio would be here. Which only has me more concerned.

After a moment, he adds, "Is there somewhere we can sit?"

I move out of the kitchen and into the large room around the stairs. It's a mix between a study and a library that I rarely use. Like most areas of the house, I suppose.

"Well?" I bite out as I sit down.

Marco rubs his brow, sitting down in the armchair across from me. I give him a few moments to gather himself because this seems difficult.

"All this stuff going on with Papa having to retire, us taking over and keeping the family going…"

"What about it?"

He turns his unsure gaze on me. Something flickers in his eyes that has me truly concerned. Is he going to tell me he's been diagnosed with some rare, incurable disease? Cancer? Of course I'm thinking the worst. How can I not?

He sighs and says, "Wife and kids. You want them?"

I'm not sure where he's going with this, so I wait a beat to see if he's going to add something more. He doesn't, so I lean back in my seat.

"Hadn't thought about it much until recently, but yes. I do now."

Which is the absolute honest truth.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Marco holds my gaze, and I take a moment to look at my brother. We do look so much alike, but now that I'm really looking, I see how much older he's gotten. Over the years we've grown apart, and I hadn't realized how much he's changed.

"This life we live. Is it worth it? Worth the risk of losing it all?"

I narrow my eyes and say, "Papa always kept us safe. No matter what he was dealing with, our family always came first. There's no reason we can't do the same."

"I've been thinking back over the years to all the women. You know, the ones I've been with?" he starts, staring into his glass.

"If you're looking for girlfriend advice, you're looking in the wrong place, Marco."

He chuckles, shaking his head. There's something in his tone rubbing me the wrong way. It isn't like him to be so damn depressed.

"No, nothing like that. It's—there were a lot. I mean, why wouldn't there be, right? I had nothing holding me back, no reason not to enjoy everything that came with this life. The partying, the expensive shit, the women. But there was never a scare."

"A scare?" I ask. Does he mean feelings? Is he concerned he's a psychopath who can't form connections with people? I'm not the one to diagnose him with something like that, so again, he's barking up the wrong tree. The words that come out of his mouth next aren't what I'm expecting.

"You know; a pregnancy scare?" His gaze is on me now, sharp and serious.

Ah. That.

"Don't you use condoms?"

He huffs out a laugh, waving me off. "Hell no."

"And your dick is still attached?" I smirk.

"Attached and well," he says. He clears his throat, his face serious again as he brings his gaze back to his glass. "Anyway, it had me thinking about why that was. Why I didn't have women banging on my door asking for child support. Over the years, I guess I thought it was because they were too scared. That if there was a kid out there with my DNA, the mother didn't want them to know me because of all this, and I just let it be. But I had some of my guys look into it, and nothing."

I truly wish I knew why the hell he chose me to spill this too. I don't care about his problems, about why he can't get a girl pregnant. He should go talk to Elio about this shit. He's the one who's good at this sort of thing. Not me.

"Marco, what the fuck is your point?"

He takes in a breath. "I went to the doctor about two weeks ago to get checked. They did a few tests, but one thing they checked was my sperm count. It's low."

"Low?" He nods, finishing his scotch. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's low. Bad, actually. I guess the number is supposed to be around fifteen mil, but mine is less than five mil."

My brows shoot up. I'm pretty sure I know what that means, but—

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it's unlikely I'll ever have children." He holds my stare, not a single bit of emotion to his voice. But I am his brother. I can see he's doing it just to stop himself from feeling it and not because he doesn't care.

Well, fuck.

"That's—" I blow out a breath. "I don't know what to say. That fucking sucks, Marco. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "I don't know how I feel about it. I mean, I never thought about having kids. Never really cared. Taking over for dad sounded cool, but deep down I knew it wasn't for me. Guess the universe knew it too."

I say my next words carefully, not wanting to piss him off, but needing to know why. "Why are you telling me this, Marco? Why are you here and not at Elio's house?"

He nods and says, "I just wanted you to know because of everything going on. If continuing the family line is what's going to keep us afloat, I can't help you. And I need to be honest about it."

"There are other ways, Marco. Don't get stuck on the kid situation. What about a wife? There's adoption. What if you find someone who has a kid already?"

He huffs out a laugh. "I'm not taking care of someone else's brat."

"Classy, Marco. Real fucking classy." I finish my drink and get up to grab the bottle of scotch. I fill my glass and top off his before putting the bottle on the table in front of me.

"I'm just being honest," he says with a shrug, like it isn't a big deal.

"Have you told Elio?"

"Not yet. Wanted to tell you first."

"Do you plan on telling him?"

He finishes his scotch in one mouthful, and places the glass on the table. Maybe his issue is he drinks too damn much.

"Yeah. I will. Eventually, I guess. Maybe when this is all over. I'm not opposed to helping you both figure this shit out, but if the family thing is a definite, I'm a no-go."

"You'll have to tell him for the sake of honesty. We can't have secrets between us when we have people out to end us."

"Okay. I'll tell him."

"Today."

"Soon."

"Marco—"

"Don't lecture me, Vincenzo. I said I'll tell him. So, I'll tell him."

I sigh, but let it go. His need to confide in me and not tell our brother makes it seem like maybe he cares more than he's letting on. So fine. I'll let it go for now, but not forever. He needs to tell Elio so we can all be on the same page. If we're going to survive what's to come, we need to be open with each other.

Marco looks around. "Your girl here?"

"Yes," I say carefully, and he flashes me a grin.

"Can I meet her?"

"You've already met her," I argue.

"Yeah, when she was like ten. So, like five years ago?"

"You're disgusting," I tell him, pulling my cell from my pocket.